


Darkness Without End

by Bhelryss



Series: eirichelweek2017 [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Dozla (Fire Emblem) - Freeform, F/F, Mansel (Fire Emblem) - Freeform, au: bad end, eirichelweek2017, prompt: sorrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:03:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12247527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhelryss/pseuds/Bhelryss
Summary: Eirichel Week 2017, Day 2: SorrowEirika & Ephraim fail to protect Mansel and his sacred stone, and the world is doomed. But Eirika still has L'Arachel.





	Darkness Without End

L’Arachel puts a soft hand on Eirka’s face, and makes a low soothing noise. It is the gentlest, the quietest, the eager and lively valkyrie has been, that Eirika has seen. The stench of Mt. Neleras is strong in her nostrils, a mix of sulphur and sweat and singed hair that overpowers even the fresh air that blows over them, now that they have left the most treacherous grounds behind them. Ephraim uneasy, L’Arachel worried....Lyon, Lyon who took and destroyed the stone…

As she had said earlier, the force of her personality shining through every word, L’Arachel repeated, “Do not be discouraged, Eirika!” Warmth in her voice, and in the hand on Eirika’s cheek. “We yet march to Rausten, my beautiful homeland. And thence to victory, against the dark forces who will never prevail against our divine cause!” Her faith is unshaken, her confidence unwavering.

Where Eirika and Ephraim falter in the face of their trials, L’Arachel is constant.

“You’re right, L’Arachel,” Eirika admits, exhaling strongly to help clear the last of the brimstone smell. The other woman preens a bit, always glad to be right, and smiles as though Eirika has given her the highest praise. “Of course, we have hope yet, don’t we?”

Twining their hands together, L’Arachel pulls Eirika forward, each step further away from the inhospitable earth of Mt. Neleras and closer to where their people are regrouping. Faithful Dozla and Seth, amongst the others. “Water, and rest, and then, to the court of Rausten, where we will secure our future.” L’Arachel says firmly, with all the authority of a trained healer. 

“Our future?” Eirika murmurs, questioning but ultimately biddable. The heat of the mountain has indeed made her thirsty, and her heart is as tired as her body. Water, and rest, and then a journey to secure their hopes. It sounds nice. Short and to the point. Completely within their abilities. 

“Yes, our future.” L’Arachel says boldly, never one to feel faint with Eirika. “Yours and mine, together. Haven’t we promised each other the future? To be together in each other’s homes?” She does not wait for an answer, she knows her words are accurate. “I would have you meet my uncle, and know him as you would an uncle of your own.” She paused a moment, brightness dimming a bit, as it ever did when thoughts turned to her dead parents, and now to Eirika’s dead parents. 

“Together.” Eirika agreed, pulling ahead, and pulling L’Arachel with her. “Now, what was it you were ordering? Water, rest…”

“And hope, fair maiden!” L’Arachel proclaimed, smile bright enough to chase away the shadows on Eirika’s heart. “You mustn’t forget.”

In the dawn, after the attack on Castle Rausten, Eirika finds Dozla first. He stands, stocky and short and imposing, before the throne. Pontifex Mansel, with his bloodied hairline, lies with his head cradled in L’Arachel’s lap. Her eyes are red and shining with unshed tears, and her hand trembles as she smooths stray hairs back away from her uncle’s forehead. 

All words are stolen, as she takes in the quiet, mournful agony in Dozla’s face, and the quiet of the room. Eirika hesitates from going immediately to L’Arachel’s side, feeling almost as though if she were to try she would be stopped. But Dozla’s exhaustion is evident in how heavily he leans on his axe, and the way his expression could have been carved from stone, so she steps past him, and kneels next to L’Arachel, heart aching for her girlfriend’s pain.

“I’m sorry,” she says only, resting her hand on L’Arachel’s arm. What else can be said? The passing of a king, the passing of a father - an uncle - is so unsettling an event that she is not sure there is anything to say that might ease the pain of it. Rausten’s only heir stilled under that touch, leaning over so that her uncle stayed under her hand, but L’Arachel’s head rested on Eirika’s shoulder. 

“This isn’t the worst of it.” L’Arachel whispered, as though she were afraid to disturb the dead. “The stone is gone. Dust on the temple floor.” Evil had prevailed, this once. Just this once, but at the most critical time, landing the one blow that would guarantee them the win. Latona’s light had faltered, and shadow had stolen all that was good in this world, but for Eirika, in L’Arachel’s mind. 

Blood frozen, Eirika was too shocked to be despairing. All their hopes, all their plans...Reeling, Eirika could only close her eyes against the overwhelming nature of it all, and rest her head atop L’Arachel’s. After they’d put their dead to rest, no doubt Ephraim would want to push forth, into the Darkling Woods and give Lyon rest, but….but.

L’Arachel’s heart was broken, and Eirika’s too in echo. And even beyond that, beyond the pain of losing family and the family of one beloved, there was their lost hope. “It’s over, isn’t it.” Eirika breathed, staring beyond where Dozla stood watch for his mourning princess to the darkly lit halls of Castle Rausten. 

What was left for them now?

Despair and sorrow chased at their heels, at Eirika and L’Arachel, like working dogs at sheep. They sat there, together, until L’Arachel was ready to move. And Eirika pressed a kiss to the corner of L’Arachel’s mouth, full of love and support and a painful sympathy, and held her hand as they walked out of the throne room, together.


End file.
